The 
Bradford  A.  Booth  Collection 


in 


English  and  American 
Literature 


/. 


POEMS 


BY     THE     SAME    AUTHOR 

Uniform  with  this  volume 
PAOLO  AND   FRANCESCA :  A  Tragedy 

TWENTY-SECOND  THOUSAND 

HEROD  :  A  Tragedy 

TWENTY-SECOND  THOUSAND 

NEW  POEMS:  including  "  lole,"  a  Tragedy 
in  One  Act 


MARPESSA.    Illustrated  by  Philip  Connard 

SIXTEENTH   THOUSAND 


POEMS 


BY 


STEPHEN /PHILLIPS 


JOHN   LANE   COMPANY:    NEW   YORK 

JOHN  LANE:  THE  BODLEY  HEAD :  LONDON 

MDCCCCXI 


Copyright,  189? 
BY  JOHN   LANE 

Copyright,  1905 
BY  JOHN   LANE   COMPANY 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS    •    JOHN    WILSON 
AND    SON        •       CAMBRIDGE,    U.  S.  A. 


NOTE 

THE  poem,  "  Christ  in  Hades,"  with  the  accompanying 
lyrics,  which  originally  appeared  in  Mr.  Elkin  Mathews' 
Shilling  Garland,  is  included  in  the  present  volume.  No 
further  copies  of  the  poem  in  its  original  form  will  be 
printed. 


To  MAY 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  WOMAN  WITH  THE  DEAD  SOUL           ....  I 

MARPESSA 8 

THE  WIFE 3O 

FACES  AT  A  FIRE «  39 

THE  LILY 41 

TO  MILTON,  —  BLIND 43 

LAZARUS     .                     ........  45 

FAITH .  48 

BY  THE  SEA $O 

A- S.P. S3 

THE  QUESTION 55 

BEAUTIFUL  DEATH 58 

THE  PRISONER 63 

THE  WOUND 65 

THE  NEW  "  DE  PROFUNDIS  " 67 

THE  APPARITION 70 

LYRICS 77 

CHRIST  IN   HADES 84 


THE  WOMAN  WITH  THE  DEAD  SOUL 

ALLURED  by  the  disastrous  tavern-light 
Unhappy  things  flew  in  out  of  the  night ; 
And  ever  the  sad  human  swarm  returned, 
Some  crazy-fluttering,  and  some  half-burned. 
Among    the    labourers,  gnarled,  and    splashed 

with  mire, 

The  disillusioned  women  sipping  fire, 
Slow  tasting  bargainers  amid  the  flare, 
And  lurid  ruminators,  —  I  was  'ware 
Of  that  cold  face  from  which  I  may  not  run, 
Which  even  now  doth  stab  me  in  the  sun. 
That  face  was  of  a  woman  that  alone 
Sat  sewing ;   a  white  liquor  by  her  shone ; 


2      THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DEAD    SOUL 

From  which  at  moments  warily  and  slow 
She  sipped;  then  bent  above  her  sewing  low. 
A  sober  dress  of  decent  serge  she  wore 
Uplifted  nicely  from  the  smirching  floor ; 
And  with    a   bunch    of   grapes    her    hat  was 

crowned, 

Which  trembled  together  if  she  glanced  around. 
Speckless,  arranged ;  and  with  no  braid  awry, 
All   smoothed   and   combed   she   sewed   inces- 
santly. 

She  turned  her  eyes  on  me ;  they  had  no  ray ; 
But  stared  like  windows  in  the  peer  of  day. 
So  cold  her  gaze  that  I  bowed  down  my  head 
Trembling;    it  seemed   to    me    that    she   was 

dead; 

And  that  those  hands  mechanically  went, 
As  though  the  original  force  not  yet  was  spent. 


THE   WOMAN   WITH   THE   DEAD    SOUL      3 

You  that  have  wailed  above  the  quiet  clay, 
That  on  the  pillow  without  stirring  lay ; 
Yet  think  how  I  stood  mourning  by  the  side 
Of  her  who  sat,  but  seemed  as  she  had  died ; 
Cold,  yet  so  busy ;  though  so  nimble,  dead ; 
Whose  fingers  ever  at  the  sewing  sped. 
I  spoke  with  her,  and  in  slow  terror  guessed 
How  she,  so  ready  for  perpetual  rest, 
So  smoothly  combed  and  for  the  ground  pre- 
pared, 

Whose  eyes  already  fixed  beyond  me  stared, 
Could  sidle  unobserved  and  safely  glide 
Amid  the  crowd  that  wist  not  she  had  died. 
Gently  she  spoke;    not  once  her  cheek   grew 

pale 

And  I  translate  the  dreadful  placid  tale. 
She  with  a  soul  was  born :   she  felt  it  leap 


4      THE   WOMAN    WITH   THE   DEAD    SOUL 

Within  her :   it  could  wonder,  laugh,  and  weep. 
But  dismally  as  rain  on  ocean  blear, 
The  days  upon  that  human  spirit  dear 
Fell ;    and  existence  lean,  in  sky  dead-grey, 
Withholding  steadily,  starved  it  away : 
London  ignored  it  with  deliberate  stare, 
Until  the  delicate  thing  began  to  wear. 
She  felt  it  ailing  for  she  knew  not  what ; 
Feebly  she  wept ;  but  she  could  aid  it  not. 
Ah,  not  the  stirring  child  within  the  womb 
Hath  such  an  urgent  need  of  light  and  room ! 
Then  hungry  grew  her  soul :  she  looked  around, 
But  nothing  to  allay  that  famine  found ; 
She  felt  it  die  a  little  every  day, 
Flutter  less  wildly,  and  more  feebly  pray. 
Stiller  it  grew ;  at  times  she  felt  it  pull 
Imploring  thinly  something  beautiful, 


THE   WOMAN    WITH   THE   DEAD    SOUL      5 

And  in  the  night  was  painfully  awake, 
And  struggled  in  the  darkness  till  day-break. 
For  not  at  once ;  not  without  any  strife, 
It  died;   at  times  it  started  back  to  life, 
Now  at  some  angel  evening  after  rain, 
Builded  like  early  Paradise  again, 
Now  at  some  flower,  or  human  face,  or  sky 
With  silent  tremble  of  infinity, 
Or  at  some  waft  of  fields  hi  midnight  sweet, 
Or  soul  of  summer  dawn  hi  the  dark  street 
Slowly  she  was  aware  her  soul  had  died 
Within  her  body:  for  no  more  it  cried, 
Vexed  her  no  more ;  and  now  monotonous  life 
Easily  passed ;  she  was  exempt  from  strife ; 
And  from  her  soul  was  willing  to  be  freed, 
She  could  not  keep  what  she  could  never  feed ; 
And  she  was  well ;  above  or  bliss  or  care ; 


6      THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DEAD    SOUL 

Hunger  and  thirst  were  her  emotions  bare. 
For  the  great  stars  consented,  and  withdrew, 
And  music,  and  the  moon,  greenness  and  dew. 
Vet  for  a  time  more  heavily  and  slow 
She  walked,  and  indolently  worked,  as  though 
About  with  her  she  could  not  help  but  bring 
Within  her  busy  body  the  dead  thing. 
When  I  had  heard  her  tell  without  one  tear 
What  now  I  have  translated,  in  great  fear 
Toward    her   I   leaned,  and   "  O    my   sister ! " 

cried, 

"  My  sister ! "  but  my  hand  she  put  aside, 
Lest  I  her  decent  dress  might  disarray, 
And  so  smiled  on  me  that  I  might  not  stay. 
And  I  remembered  that  to  one  long  dead 
I  spoke :  "  No  sound  shall  rouse  her  now,"  I 

said, 


THE    WOMAN    WITH    THE    DEAD    SOUL      7 

"  Not    Orpheus    touching    in    that    gloom    his 

chord, 

Nor  even  the  special  whisper  that  restored 
Pale  Lazarus ;  yet  will  she  seem  to  run, 
And  hurry  eager  in  the  noonday  sun, 
Industrious,  timed,  and  kempt ;  till  she  at  last, 
Run  down,  inaccurate,  aside  is  cast." 
While  thus  I  whispered  and  in  wonder  wild 
Could  not  unfix  my  gaze  from  her,  a  child 
Plucked   at   her   dress,  and   the   dead  woman 

rose; 

On  to  the  mirror  silently  she  goes, 
Lightly  a  loose  tress  touches  at  her  ear; 
She  gazes  in  her  own  eyes  without  fear. 
Deliberately  then  with  fingers  light 
She   smoothed   her  dress,  and    stole   into   the 

night. 


MARPESSA 

Marpessa,  being  given  by  Zeus  her  choice  between  the  god 
Apollo  and  Idas  a  mortal,  chose  Idas. 

WOUNDED  with  beauty  in  the  summer  night 
Young  Idas  tossed  upon  his  couch,  and  cried 
"  Marpessa,  O  Marpessa !  "     From  the  dark 
The  floating  smell  of  flowers  invisible, 
The  mystic  yearning  of  the  garden  wet, 
The  moonless-passing  night  —  into  his  brain 
Wandered,  until  he  rose  and  outward  leaned 
In  the  dim  summer:   'twas  the  moment  deep 
When  we  are  conscious  of  the  secret  dawn, 
Amid  the  darkness  that  we  feel  is  green. 

To  Idas  had  Marpessa  been  revealed, 
8 


MARPESSA  9 

i 

Roaming    with    morning    thoughts    amid    the 

dew, 

All  fresh  from  sleeping;   and  upon  her  cheek 
The  bloom  of  pure  repose ;   like  perfect  fruit 
Even  at  the  moment  was  her  beauty  ripe. 
The  god  Apollo  from  the  heaven  of  heavens 
Her  mortal  sweetness  through  the  air  allured; 
And  on  this  very  noon  she  shall  decide 
'Twixt  Idas  and  the  god,  take  to  herself 
A  brief  or  an  eternal  lover.     So 
When  the  long  day  that  glideth  without  cloud, 
The  summer  day,  was  at  her  blue  deep  hour 
Of  lilies  musical  with  busy  bliss, 
When  very  light  trembled  as  with  excess, 
And  heat  was  frail,  and  every  bush  and  flower 
Was  drooping  in  the  glory  overcome ; 
They  three  together  met;  on  the  one  side, 


io  MARPESSA 

Fresh  from  diffusing  light  on  all  the  world 

Apollo ;  on  the  other  without  sleep 

Idas,  and  in  the  midst  Marpessa  stood. 

Just  as  a  flower  after  drenching  rain, 

So  from  the  falling  of  felicity 

Her  human  beauty  glowed,  and  it  was  new ; 

The   bee   too   near   her   bosom   drowsed    and 

dropped. 

But  as  the  god  sprang  to  embrace  her,  they 
Heard  thunder,  and  a  little  afterward 
The  far  Paternal  voice,  "  Let  her  decide." 
And  as  a  flame  blown  backward  by  a  gust, 
Burned  to  and  fro  in  fury  beautiful 
The  murmuring  god;  but  at  the  last  he  spoke, 
And  smiled  as  on  his  favourite  western  isle. 
"  Marpessa,  though  no  trouble,  nor  any  pain, 
So  is  it  willed,  can  touch  me ;  but  I  live 


MARPESSA  it 

For  ever  in  a  deep  deliberate  bliss, 

A  spirit  sliding  through  tranquillity; 

Yet  when  I  saw  thee  I  imagined  woe, 

That  thou  who  art  so  fair,  shouldst  ever  taste 

Of  the  earth-sorrow :  for  thy  life  has  been 

The  history  of  a  flower  in  the  air, 

Liable  but  to  breezes  and  to  time, 

As  rich  and  purposeless  as  is  the  rose: 

Thy  simple  doom  is  to  be  beautiful. 

Thee  God  created  but  to  grow,  not  strive, 

And  not  to  suffer,  merely  to  be  sweet, 

The  favourite  of  his  rains;  and  thou  indeed 

Lately  upon  the  summer  wast  disclosed. 

Child,  wilt  thou  taste  of  grief?     On   thee   the 

hours 

Shall  feed,  and  bring  thy  soul  into  the  dusk: 
Even  now  thy  face  is  hasting  to  the  dark ! 


12  MARPESSA 

For  slowly  shalt  thou  cool  to  all  things  great, 
And  wisely  smile  at  love;   and  thou  shalt  see 
Beautiful  Faith  surrendering  to  Time, 
The  fierce  ingratitude  of  children  loved, 
Ah,  sting   of   stings !     A   mourner   shalt  thou 

stand 

At  Passion's  funeral  in  decent  garb. 
The  greenly  silent  and  cool-growing  night 
Shall  be  the  time  when  most  thou  art  awake, 
With  dreary  eyes  of  all  illusion  cured, 
Beside  that  stranger  that  thy  husband  is. 
But  if   thou'lt  live  with   me,  then   shalt  thou 

bide 

In  mere  felicity  above  the  world, 
In  peace  alive  and  moving,  where  to  stir 
Is  ecstacy,  and  thrilling  is  repose. 
What  is  the  love  of  men  that  women  seek  it  ? 


MARPESSA  13 

In  its  beginning  pale  with  cruelty, 
But  having  sipped  of  beauty,  negligent, 
And  full  of  languor  and  distaste :  for  they 
Seeking  that  perfect  face  beyond  the  world 
Approach  in  vision  earthly  semblances, 
And  touch,  and  at  the  shadows  flee  away. 
Then  wilt  thou  die?    Part  with  eternal  thoughts, 
Lie  without  any  hope  beneath  the  grass, 
All  thy  imaginations  in  the  dust  ? 
And  all  that  tint  and  melody  and  breath, 
Which  in  their  lovely  unison  are  thou, 
To  be  dispersed  upon  the  whirling  sands! 
Thy  soul  blown  seaward  on  nocturnal  blast! 
O  brief  and  breathing  creature,  wilt  thou  cease 
Once    having    been  ?     Thy  doom    doth    make 

thee  rich, 
And  the  low  grave  doth  make  thee  exquisite. 


14  MARPESSA 

But  if  thou'lt  live  with  me,  then  will  I  kiss 
Warm  immortality  into  thy  lips; 
And  I  will  carry  thee  above  the  world, 
To  share  my  ecstacy  of  flinging  beams, 
And  scattering  without  intermission  joy. 
And  thou  shalt  know  that  first  leap  of  the  sea 
Toward  me ;  the  grateful  upward  look  of  earth, 
Emerging  roseate  from  her  bath  of  dew, — 
We  two  in  heaven  dancing,  —  Babylon 
Shall  flash  and  murmur,  and  cry  from  under  us, 
And  Nineveh  catch  fire,  and  at  our  feet 
Be  hurled  with  her  inhabitants,  and  all 
Adoring  Asia  kindle  and  hugely  bloom;  — 
We  two  in  heaven  running,  —  continents 
Shall  lighten,  ocean  unto  ocean  flash, 
And  rapidly  laugh  till  all  this  world  is  warm. 
Or  since  thou  art  a  woman,  thou  shalt  have 


MARPESSA  15 

More  tender  tasks;  to  steal  upon  the  sea, 

A  long  expected  bliss  to  tossing  men. 

Or  build  upon  the  evening  sky  some  wished 

And  glorious  metropolis  of  cloud. 

Thou  shalt  persuade  the  harvest  and  bring  on 

The  deeper  green ;    or  silently  attend 

The  fiery  funeral  of  foliage  old, 

Connive  with  Time  serene  and  the  good  hours. 

Or,  —  for  I  know  thy  heart,  —  a  dearer  toil,  — 

To  lure  into  the  air  a  face  long  sick, 

To  gild  the  brow  that  from  its  dead  looks  up, 

To  shine  on  the  unforgiven  of  this  world; 

With  slow  sweet  surgery  restore  the  brain, 

And  to  dispel  shadows  and  shadowy  fear." 

When  he  had  spoken,  humbly  Idas  said : 

"After  such  argument  what  can  I  plead? 

Or  what  pale  promise  make  ?     Yet  since  it  is 


16  MARPESSA 

In  women  to  pity  rather  than  to  aspire, 
A  little  I  will  speak.     I  love  thee  then 
Not  only  for  thy  body  packed  with  sweet 
Of  all  this  world,  that  cup  of  brimming  June, 
That  jar  of  violet  wine  set  in  the  air, 
That  palest  rose  sweet  in  the  night  of  life; 
Nor  for  that  stirring  bosom  all  besieged 
By  drowsing  lovers,  or  thy  perilous  hair ; 
Nor  for  that  face  that  might  indeed  provoke 
Invasion  of  old  cities ;  no,  nor  all 
Thy   freshness    stealing   on    me    like    strange 

sleep. 

Not  for  this  only  do  I  love  thee,  but 
Because  Infinity  upon  thee  broods ; 
And  thou  art  full  of  whispers  and  of  shadows. 
Thou  meanest  what  the  sea  has  striven  to  say 
So  long,  and  yearned  up  the  cliffs  to  tell; 


MARPESSA  17 

Thou  art  what  all  the  winds  have  uttered  not, 
What  the  still  night  suggesteth  to  the  heart. 
Thy  voice  is  like  to  music  heard  ere  birth, 
Some  spirit  lute  touched  on  a  spirit  sea; 
Thy  face  remembered  is  from  other  worlds, 
It  has  been  died  for,  though  I  know  not  when, 
It  has  been  sung  of,  though  I  know  not  where. 
It  has  the  strangeness  of  the  luring  West, 
And  of  sad  sea-horizons;  beside  thee 
I  am  aware  of  other  times  and  lands, 
Of  birth  far-back,  of  lives  in  many  stars. 
O  beauty  lone  and  like  a  candle  clear 
In  this  dark  country  of  the  world !     Thou  art 
My  woe,  my  early  light,  my  music  dying." 
As  he  was  speaking,  she  with  lips  apart 
Breathed,  and  with  dimmer  eyes  leaned  through 
the  air 


18  MARPESSA 

As  one  in  dream,  and  now  his  human  hand 
Took  in  her  own ;   and  to  Apollo  spoke : 
"O  gradual  rose  of  the  dim  universe! 
Whose  warmth  steals  through  the  grave  unto 

the  dead, 

Soul  of  the  early  sky,  the  priest  of  bloom ! 
Who  beautifully  goest  in  the  West, 
Attracting  as  to  an  eternal  home 
The  yearning  soul.     Male  of  the  female  earth! 
O  eager  bridegroom  springing  in  this  world 
As  in  thy  bed  prepared !     Fain  would  I  know 
Yon  heavenly  wafting  through  the  heaven  wide, 
And  the  large  view  of  the  subjected  seas, 
And  famous  cities,  and  the  various  toil 
Of  men :  all  Asia  at  my  feet  spread  out 
In  indolent  magnificence  of  bloom ! 
Africa  in  her  matted  hair  obscured, 


MARPESSA  19 

And  India  in  meditation  plunged! 
Then  the  delight  of  flinging  the  sunbeams, 
Diffusing  silent  bliss ;    and  yet  more  sweet,  — 
To  cherish  fruit  on  the  warm  wall;   to  raise 
Out  of  the  tomb  to  glory  the  pale  wheat, 
Serene  ascension  by  the  rain  prepared; 
To  work  with  the  benignly  falling  hours, 
And  beautiful  slow  Time.      But  dearest,  this, 
To  gild  the  face  that  from  its  dead  looks  up, 
To  shine  on'  the  rejected,  and  arrive 
To  women  that  remember  in  the  night ; 
Or  mend  with  sweetest  surgery  the  mind. 
And  yet,  forgive  me  if  I  can  but  speak 
Most  human  words.     Of  immortality 
Thou  singest :  thou  would'st  hold  me  from  the 

ground, 
And  this  just  opening  beauty  from  the  grave. 


20  MARPESSA 

As  yet  I  have  known  no  sorrow ;  all  my  days 
Like  perfect  lilies  under  water  stir, 
And  God  has  sheltered  me  from  his  own  wind ; 
The  darling  of  his  breezes  have  I  been. 
Yet  as  to  one  inland,  that  dreameth  lone, 
Sea-faring  men  with  their  sea-weary  eyes, 
Round  the  inn-fire  tell  of  some  foreign  land; 
So  age"d  men,  much  tossed  about  in  life, 
Have  told  me  of  that  country,  Sorrow  far. 
How  many  goodly  ships  at  anchor  lie 
Within  her  ports;  even  to  me  indeed 
Hath   a   sea-rumour  through    the    night   been 

borne. 

And  I  myself  remember,  and  have  heard, 
Of  men  that  did  believe,  women  that  loved 
That  were  unhappy  long  and  now  are  dead, 
With  wounds  that  no  eternity  can  close, 


MARPESSA  21 

Life  had  so  marked  them :  or  of  others  who 
Panted  toward  their  end,  and  fell  on  death 
Even  as  sobbing  runners  breast  the  rope. 
And  most  I  remember  of  all  human  things 
My  mother;  often  as  a  child  I  pressed 
My  face  against  her  cheek,  and  felt  her  tears ; 
Even  as  she  smiled  on  me,  her  eyes  would  fill, 
Until  my  own  grew  ignorantly  wet ; 
And  I  in  silence  wondered  at  sorrow. 
When  I  remember  this,  how  shall  I  know 
That  I  myself  may  not,  by  sorrow  taught, 
Accept  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  ground? 
Where,  though  I  lie  still,  and  stir  not  at  all, 
Yet  shall  I  irresistibly  be  kind, 
Helplessly  sweet,  a  wandering  garden  bliss. 
My  ashes  shall  console  and  make  for  peace ; 
This  mind  that  injured,  be  an  aimless  balm. 


22  MARPESSA 

Or  if  there  be  some  other  world,  with  no 
Bloom,  neither  rippling  sound,  nor  early  smell, 
Nor  leaves,  nor  pleasant  exchange  of  human 

speech ; 

Only  a  dreadful  pacing  to  and  fro 
Of  spirits  meditating  on  the  sun; 
A  land  of  bare"d  boughs  and  grieving  wind ; 
Yet  would  I  not  forego  the  doom,  the  place, 
Whither  my  poets  and  my  heroes  went 
Before  me;    warriors  that  with  deeds  forlorn 
Saddened  my  youth,  yet  made  it  great  to  live; 
Lonely  antagonists  of  Destiny, 
That  went  down  scornful  before  many  spears, 
Who   soon   as  we   are  born,  are   straight  our 

friends; 

And  live  in  simple  music,  country  songs, 
And  mournful  ballads  by  the  winter  fire. 


MARPESSA  23 

Since  they  have  died ;  their  death  is  ever  mine ; 
I  would  not  lose  it.     Then,  thou  speak'st  of 

joy» 

Of  immortality  without  one  sigh, 

Existence  without  tears  for  evermore. 

Thou  would'st  preserve  me  from  the  anguish, 

lest 

This  holy  face  into  the  dark  return. 
Yet  I  being  human,  human  sorrow  miss. 
The  half  of  music,  I  have  heard  men  say, 
Is  to  have   grieved;    when   comes  the   lonely 

wail 

Over  the  mind ;   old  men  have  told  it  me 
Subdued  after  long  life  by  simple  sounds. 
The  mourner  is  the  favourite  of  the  moon, 
And  the  departing  sun  his  glory  owes 
To  the  eternal  thoughts  of  creatures  brief, 


24  MARPESSA 

Who   think   the   thing   that   they  shall   never 

see. 
Since   we    must   die,    how  bright    the    starry 

track ! 

How  wonderful  in  a  bereaved  ear 
The  Northern  wind ;  how  strange  the  summer 

night, 

The  exhaling  earth  to  those  who  vainly  love. 
Out  of  our  sadness  have  we  made  this  world 
So  beautiful;  the  sea  sighs  in  our  brain, 
And  in  our  heart  that  yearning  of  the  moon. 
To  all  this  sorrow  was  I  born,  and  since 
Out  of  a  human  womb  I  came,  I  am 
Not  eager  to  forego  it;  I  would  scorn 
To  elude  the  heaviness  and  take  the  joy, 
For  pain  came  with   the   sap,  pangs  with   the 

bloom : 


MARPESSA  25 

This  is  the  sting,  the  wonder.     Yet  should  I 

Linger  beside  thee  in  felicity, 

Sliding  with  open  eyes  through  liquid  bliss 

For  ever ;  still  I  must  grow  old.     Ah  I 

Should  ail  beside  thee  Apollo,  and  should  note 

With  eyes  that  would  not  be,  but  yet  are  dim, 

Ever  so  slight  a  change  from  day  to  day 

In  thee  my  husband ;  watch  thee  nudge  thyself 

To  little  offices  that  once  were  sweet  : 

Slow  where  thou  once  wert  swift,  remembering 

To   kiss   those   lips  which   once   thou   couldst 

not  leave. 

I  should  expect  thee  by  the  Western  bay, 
Faded,  not  sure  of  thee,  with  desperate  smiles, 
And  pitiful  devices  of  my  dress 
Or   fashion   of    my  hair:    thou  wouldst   grow 

kind; 


26  MARPESSA 

Most  bitter  to  a  woman  that  was  loved. 

I  must  ensnare  thee  to  my  arms,  and  touch 

Thy  pity,  to  but  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

But  if  I  live  with  Idas,  then  we  two 

On  the  low  earth  shall  prosper  hand  in  hand 

In  odours  of  the  open  field,  and  live 

In  peaceful  noises  of  the  farm,  and  watch 

The  pastoral  fields  burned  by  the  setting  sun. 

And  he  shall  give  me  passionate  children,  not 

Some  radiant  god  that  will  despise  me  quite, 

But  clambering  limbs  and  little  hearts  that  err. 

And  I  shall  sleep  beside  him  in  the  night, 

And  fearful  from  some  dream  shall  touch  his 

hand 

Secure;  or  at  some  festival  we  two 
Will  wander  through  the  lighted  city  streets ; 
And  in  the  crowd  I'll  take  his  arm  and  feel 


MARPESSA  27 

Him  closer  for  the  press.     So  shall  we  live. 
And  though  the  first  sweet  sting  of  love  be 

past, 

The  sweet  that  almost  venom  is ;  though  youth, 
With  tender  and  extravagant  delight, 
The  first  and  secret  kiss  by  twilight  hedge, 
The  insane  farewell  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
Pass  off;  there  shall  succeed  a  faithful  peace; 
Beautiful  friendship  tried  by  sun  and  wind, 
Durable  from  the  daily  dust  of  life. 
And  though  with  sadder,  still  with  kinder  eyes, 
We  shall  behold  all  frailties,  we  shall  haste 
To  pardon,  and  with  mellowing  minds  to  bless. 
Then  though  we  must  grow  old,  we  shall  grow 

old 

Together,  and  he  shall  not  greatly  miss 
My  bloom  faded,  and  waning  light  of  eyes, 


28  MARPESSA 

Too  deeply  gazed  in  ever  to  seem  dim ; 
Nor  shall  we  murmur  at,  nor  much  regret 
The  years  that  gently  bend  us  to  the  ground, 
And  gradually  incline  our  face ;  that  we 
Leisurely  stooping,  and  with  each  slow  step, 
May  curiously  inspect  our  lasting  home. 
But  we  shall  sit  with  luminous  holy  smiles, 
Endeared  by  many  griefs,  by  many  a  jest, 
And  custom  sweet  of  living  side  by  side ; 
And  full  of  memories  not  unkindly  glance 
Upon  each  other.     Last,  we  shall  descend 
Into  the  natural  ground  —  not  without  tears — 
One  must  go  first,  ah  god !  one  must  go  first ; 
After  so  long  one  blow  for  both  were  good; 
Still  like  old   friends,  glad  to   have   met,  and 

leave 
Behind  a  wholesome  memory  on  the  earth. 


MARPESSA  29 

And  thou,  beautiful  god,  in  that  far  time, 
When  in  thy  setting  sweet  thou  gazest  down 
On  this  grey  head,  wilt  thou  remember  then 
That   once   I    pleased   thee,  that    I    once  was 

young  ? " 

When  she  had  spoken,  Idas  with  one  cry 
Held   her,  and   there  was    silence ;    while    the 

god 

In  anger  disappeared.     Then  slowly  they, 
He  looking  downward,  and  she  gazing  up, 
Into  the  evening  green  wandered  away. 


THE  WIFE 

A  TRUE  STORY  DONE  INTO  VERSE 

HER  husband  starved;   and  gazed  up   in   her 

face: 
There  was   no   crumb   of   bread   in   the   bare 

place. 

Grieving  she  stared  into  the  waning  light 
With  fixe"d  eyes  that  had  in  them  no  sight 
But  now  at  last  so  deeply,  "Ah!"  he  said, 
She  might  no  longer  bide  about  the  bed; 
But  as  in  panic  ran  from  side  to  side, 
And  like  a  creature  all  around  her  spied. 

Sudden  she  stood;  and  pale"d  in  her  thought, 
30 


THE    WIFE  31 

And    with    both    hands    at    her    wild    bosom 

caught ; 

She  saw  the  room  of  every  morsel  reft, 
And  only  her  own  body  now  is  left. 
Then  like  a  martyr  robing  for  the  flame, 
She  wound  the  shawl  about  her  without  shame ; 
Lo  in  the  red  shawl  sacredly  she  burned, 
Her  face  already  into  ashes  turned ! 
And  blind  out  of  the  brightness  of  his  face 
On   to   the   street   she    came  with  wandering 

pace. 

But  at  the  door  a  moment  did  she  quail, 
Hearing  her  little  son  behind  her  wail ; 
Who,  waking,  stretched   his  arms  out  to   her 

wide, 

And  softly,  "  Mother,  take  me  with  you!"  cried; 
For  he  would  run  beside  her,  clasping  tight 


3*  THE    WIFE 

Her  hand,  and  lag  at  every  window  bright, 
Or  near  some  stall  beneath  the  wild  gas-flare, 
At  the  dim  fruit  in  ghostly  bloom  would  stare. 
Toward  him  she  turned,  and   felt   her  bosom 

swell 

Wildly :  he  was  so  young  almost  she  fell ; 
Yet  took  him  up,  and  to  allay  his  cries 
Smiled  at  him  with  her  lips,  not  with  her  eyes, 
Then    laid    him    down;    away   her    hand    she 

snatched, 

And   now  with   streaming  face  the   door   un- 
latched, 

When  lo,  the  long  uproar  of  feet, 
The  huge  dim  fury  of  the  street! 
While  she  into  the  wild  night  goes, 
That  in  her  eyes  a  light  shower  blows. 
Faces  like  moths  against  her  fly, 


THE  WIFE  33 

Like  moths  by  brilliance  lured  to  die ; 

The  clerk  with  spirit  lately  dead, 

The  decent  clothes  above  him  spread ; 

The  joyous  cruel  face  of  boys ; 

Those  dreadful  shadows  proffering  toys ; 

The  constable  with  lifted  hand 

Conducting  the  orchestral  Strand ; 

A  woman  secretly  distrest, 

And  staidly  weeping,  dimly  drest ; 

A  girl  is  vending  flowers  and  fern, 

Their  very  touch  her  fingers  burn  ; 

A  blind  man  passes,  that  doth  sound 

With  shaking  head  the  hollow  ground. 

In  showering  air,  the  mystic  damp, 

The  dim  balm  blown  from  lamp  to  lamp, 

A  strange  look  from  a  shredded  shawl, 

A  casual  voice  with  thrilling  fall ! 


34  THE    WIFE 

The  officer  from  passing  eye 
Hustles  the  forms  that  injured  lie, 
Creatures  we  marred,  compelled  upright 
To  drift  beside  us  in  the  light. 
But  now  she  slowly  trembles  as  she  sees 
The  cruel  lover  that  must  give  her  ease: 
Sated,  arranged,  he  paced  in  moody  stride, 
With  little  lilies  on  his  breast  that  died. 
O  meekly  she  beside  him  went  away. 
And  dutifully  as  a  daughter  may. 

From  that  unrealized  embrace 
Swiftly  she  broke  with  eager  face; 
With  food  for  him  that  called  aloud, 
She  battled  through  the  hostile  crowd; 
An  army  to  frustrate  her  bent, 
In  sullen  numbers  'gainst  her  sent 


THE    WIFE  35 

The  mystic  river  floating  wan, 
The  cold  soul  of  the  city  shone; 
The  mooned  terminus  through  the  dark 
With  emerald  and  ruby  spark, 
The  stoker  burningly  embowered, 
With  fiery  roses  on  him  showered, 
Glide;  at  her  feet  the  mud-gleam  blue, 
Above  a  cloudy  tinge  and  rue ; 
And  through  the  dark  the  early  smell 
Of  waking  meadows  on  her  fell. 
With  her  right  arm  the  door  she  pushed, 
And  to  the  dead  the  widow  rushed. 
But  at  the  sight  so  deeply  was  she  torn, 
She  babbled  to  him  like  one  lately  born ; 
And  sorrowful  dim  sounds  about  him  made, 
That    were    not    speech :    and   wildly   to   him 
prayed. 


36  THE  WIFE 

She   felt   how   cold    is    God,  how    brief   our 

breath, 

How  vain  is  any  love,  how  strong  is  death : 
"  O  fool,  O  fool !     To  have  so  quickly  died  ; 
I  am  unclean  for  evermore,"  she  cried  ; 
And  then  with  fear,  with  gathering  distrust, 
Swiftly  between  his  teeth  the  morsels  thrust. 
Then  stiller  grew  ;  and  with  a  moaning  slow 
Relented  now,  and  wearied  in  her  woe. 
But  as  the  woman,  dying  in  her  thought, 
Looked  upward ;  at  her  dress  her  baby  caught, 
And  she  revived,  and  toward  her  little  son 
Ventured,  that  he  into  her  arms  might  run. 
And  like  a  strange  woman  all  doubtfully 
She  stretched  her  arms  out  shining  wistfully, 
As  though  with  meek  advances  she  beguiled 
Into  her  sighing  bosom  her  own  child. 


THE    WIFE  37 

Then  pulled  him  close  to  her,  and   held   him 

there, 

And  all  those  tears  fell  down  into  his  hair. 
Softly  she  said,  "O  cruel  new-born  thing! 
The  years  to  you  a  gentleness  will  bring; 
Then  think  of  me  as  one  that  not  in  thought, 
But  out  of  yearning  into  woe  was  brought." 
So  as  she  mourned  above  him,  the  old  farm 
With  evening  noises  in  the  twilight  charm 
Returned,  and  she  remembered  quiet  trees 
Just  stirring ;    she  can  hear  the  very  breeze ! 
Her  prudent  mother  wisely  to  her  speaks, 
Her  peaceful  hair  a  little  sorrow  streaks. 
And  as  a  soft  and  dreadful  summer  day 
Will  suddenly  through  chill  December  stray, 
So  the  mild  beauty  of  old  happiness 
Wandered  into  her  mind  with  strange  distress- 


38  THE    WIFE 

Till  slowly  with  the  gathering  light,  lo  Life 
Came   back   on    her;    Desire    and    Dust    and 

Strife ; 
The    huge    and  various  world  with    murmur 

grand. 

Time  had  begun  to  touch  her  with  soft  hand, 
And  sacred  passing  hours  with  all  things  new, 
Divine  forgetfulness  and  falling  dew. 
Then  hunger  pained :  no  thought  she  had,  no 

care, 
She  and  the  child  together  ate  that  fare. 


FACES  AT   A   FIRE 

DAZZLED  with  watching  how  the  swift  fire  fled 
Along  the  dribbling  roof,  I  turned  my  head ; 
When  lo,  upraised  beneath  the  lighted  cloud 
The  illumed  unconscious  faces  of  the  crowd ! 
An  old  grey  face  in  lovely  bloom  upturned, 
The  ancient  rapture  and  the  dream  returned! 
A  crafty  face  wondering  simply  up  ! 
That  dying  face  near  the  communion  cup ! 
The  experienced  face,  now  venturous  and  rash, 
The  scheming  eyes  hither  and  thither  flash ! 
That  common  trivial  face  made  up  of  needs, 
Now  pale  and  recent  from  triumphal  deeds ! 

The  hungry  tramp  with  indolent  gloating  stare, 
39 


40  FACES    AT    A    FIRE 

The  beggar  in  glory  and  released  from  care. 
A  mother  slowly  burning  with  bare  breast, 
Yet  her  consuming  child  close  to  her  prest! 
That  prosperous  citizen  in  anguish  dire, 
Beseeching  heaven  from  purgatorial  fire! 
Wonderful  souls  by  sudden  flame  betrayed, 
I  saw ;  then  through  the  darkness  went  afraid 


THE    LILY 

I  DREAMED  that  after  wandering  long  I  came 
To  a  dark  garden  with  frail  souls  for  flowers ; 
And  saw  the  gentle  lady  we  call  Death 
Pace  to  and  fro ;  above  each  bloom  she  bent, 
Then  passed :  a  slumbrous  sky  above  her  rolled 
Cloud  upon  cloud :  and  from  those  human 

flowers 

A  tragic  odour  like  emotion  rose. 
I  followed  in  her  steps,  and  now  she  touched 
Some  poppy  that  had  been  a  dreamer  frail, 
Or  rose  that  was  a  passionate  Eastern  queen. 
But  on  a  sudden  I  implored  her  hand, 
And  should  have  fallen :  from  a  lily  near 

What  sweet  and  paining  odour  to  my  brain 
41 


42  THE    LILY 

Darted,  with  delicate,  unhappy  smell 
Of  trouble  old  and  gladness  far  away! 
I  knew  more  surely  than  from  any  face, 
More  certainly  remembered  than  at  words, 
And  slowly  swooning  said,  "  'Tis  she !  'tis  she ! " 
Then  looking  to  that  lady  cold,  whose  face 
No  sternness  and  no  pity  had,  I  said, 
"  Lady,  this  flower  but  a  little  while, 
O !  but  a  little  while,  has  risen  here : 
Have  a  deep  care  of  it!  a  small  neglect, 
A  brief  oblivion  overburdens  it 
For  she,  that  is  this  flower,  and  merely  blows 
So  strangely  silent  and  so  white,  was  used 
To  be  much  loved,  and  guarded  wistfully. 
O !  from  this  flower  be  never  far  away ! " 
But  she  to  whom  I  spoke  moved  slowly  on, 
And  as  I  walked  beside  her,  I  awoke. 


TO   MILTON,  — BLIND 

HE  who  said  suddenly,  "  Let  there  be  light ! " 
To  thee  the  dark  deliberately  gave; 
That  those  full  eyes  might  undistracted  be 
By  this  beguiling  show  of  sky  and  field, 
This  brilliance,  that  so  lures  us  from  the  Truth. 
He  gave  thee  back  original  night,  His  own 
Tremendous  canvas,  large  and  blank  and  free, 
Where  at  each  thought  a  star  flashed  out  and 

sang. 

O  blinded  with  a  special  lightning,  thou 
Hadst  once  again  the  virgin  Dark!  and  when 
The  pleasant  flowery  sight,  which  had  deterred 
Thine  eyes  from  seeing,  when  this  recent  world 

43 


44  TO    MILTON,  — BLIND 

Was  quite  withdrawn ;  then  burst  upon  thy  view 
The  elder  glory;   space  again  in  pangs, 
And  Eden  odorous  in  the  early  mist, 
That  heaving  watery  plain  that  was  the  world ; 
Then  the  burned  earth,  and  Christ  coming  in 

clouds. 

Or  rather  a  special  leave  to  thee  was  given 
By  the  high  power,  and  thou  with  bandaged 

eyes 
Wast  guided  through  the  glimmering  camp  of 

God. 

Thy  hand  was  taken  by  angels  who  patrol 
The  evening,  or  are  sentries  to  the  dawn, 
Or  pace  the  wide  air  everlastingly. 
Thou  wast  admitted  to  the  presence,  and  deep 
Argument  heardest,  and  the  large  design 
That  brings  this  world  out  of  the  woe  to  bliss. 


LAZARUS 

"THE    light  which    I    have    followed   all   this 

way 

Out  of  the  darkness    grows  into  a  face; 
Thy  face,  dear  friend,  whom  I  so  long  have 

known. 
Have  we  not  wandered  with  twined  arms,  and 

walked 
Through  evening  fields  together?     And  those 

lips, 

That  I  have  kissed  so  oft,  did  they  pronounce 
That  dreadful  whisper,  '  Lazarus  arise '  ? 
For  as  it  came  in  darkness  I  was  'ware 

Of  countenances  terrible,  that  gazed 
45 


46  LAZARUS 

Each  on  the  other  in  drear  impotence, 
As  I  with  sighs  arose  eluding  them. 

0  face  that  seemest  made  to  weep  and  smile 
With  us,  and   hands   all   rough  with  common 

tasks ! 

Is  this  indeed  Thy  sun  to  which  thou  hast 
Recalled  me,  and  are  these  Thy  fields,  which 

grow 
Slowly  from  grey  to  green  before  my  eyes? 

1  felt  Thee  irresistible  in  the  grave. 
Forgive  me  that  I  talked  so  lightly,  and  went 
So  unconcerned  beside  thee  in  old  days. 
How  is  it  thou  canst  care  to  come  and  go 
With  such  as  me,  and  walk  and  work  with  us, 
Thou    at    whose    whisper    Death    idled    and 

grieved, 
And  knew  the  voice  at  which  creation  shone 


LAZARUS  47 

Suddenly?    Yet  was  I  so  near  to  peace; 
And  I  came  back  to  life  remorsefully, 
When    the    sea    murmured   again,  and   fields 

appeared. 

But  how  should  I  complain?     Unto  what  end 
I  am  recalled  I  know  not;  but  if  thou 
Art  here  content  to  be,  then  why  not  I?" 


FAITH 

THOU  Power,  that  beyond  the  wind 

Rulest,  to  thee  I  am  resigned. 

My  child  from  me  is  snatched  away; 

She  vanished  at  the  peer  of  day. 

Yet  I  discern  with  clearer  brow 

A  high  indulgence  in  the  blow, 

Light  in  the  storm  that  o'er  me  broke, 

A  special  kindness  in  the  stroke, 

A  gentleness  behind  the  Law, 

A  sweetness  following  on  the  awe. 

Shall  I  forget  that  noonday  hour, 

When  as  upon  some  favourite  flower 

A  deep  and  tingling  bliss  was  shed, 
48 


FAITH  49 

A  thrilling  peace  from  overhead? 
I  had  not  known  it  since  my  birth, 
I  shall  not  know  it  more  on  earth. 
But  now  I  may  not  sin,  nor  err, 
For  fear  of  ever  losing  her. 
Though  reeling  from  Thy  thunder-blow, 
Though  blinded  with  Thy  lightning  low, 
I  stagger  back  to  dismal  life, 
And  mix  myself  with  mortal  strife, 
Thy  judgment  still  to  me  is  sweet; 
I  feel,  I  feel,  that  we  shall  meet. 


BY  THE  SEA 

REMEMBER,  ah  remember,  how  we  walked 
Together  on  the  sea-cliff!     You  were  come 
From  bathing  in  the  ocean,  and  the  sea 
Was  not  yet  dry  upon  your  hair :  together 
We  walked  in  the  wet  wind  till  we  were  far 
From  voices,  even  from  the  thoughts  of  men. 
Remember  how  on  the  warm  beach  we  sat 
By  the  old  barque,  and  in  the  smell  of  tar; 
While  the  full  ocean  on  the  pebbles  dropped, 
And  in  our  ears  the  intimate  low  wind 
Of   noon,  that   breathing   from    some   ancient 

% 

place, 

Blew  on  us  merest  sleep  and  pungent  youth. 
50 


BY   THE    SEA  51 

So  deeply  glad  we  grew  that  in  pure  joy 
Closer  we  came;  your  wild  and  wet  dark  hair 
Slashed   in   my  eyes   your   essence   and   your 

sting. 

We  had  no  thought ;  we  troubled  not  to  speak ; 
Slowly  your  head  fell  down  upon  my  breast, 
In  the  soft  breeze  the  acquiescing  sun; 
And  the  sea-bloom,  the  colour  of  calm  wind, 
Was   on   your   cheek;   like   children   then  we 

kissed, 

Innocent  with  the  sea  and  pure  with  air ; 
My  spirit  fled  into  thee.     The  moon  climbed, 
The  sea  foamed  nearer,  and  we  two  arose ; 
But  ah,  how  tranquil  from  that  deep  embrace ! 
And  with  no  sadness  from  that  natural  kiss : 
Beautiful  indolence  was  on  our  brains, 
And  on  our  limbs,  as  we  together  swayed 


52  BY    THE    SEA 

Between  the  luminous  ocean  and  dark  fields. 
We  two  in  vivid  slumber  without  haste, 
Returned;  while  veil   on  veil  the   heaven  was 

bared ; 

And  a  new  glory  was  on  land  and  sea, 
And  the  moist  evening  fallow,  richly  dark, 
Sent  up  to  us  the  odour  cold  of  sleep, 
The  infinite  sweet  of  death :  so  we  returned, 
Delaying  ever,  calm  companions, 
Peacefully  slow  beside  the  moody  heave 
Of  the  moon-brilliant  billow  to  the  town. 


A.  S.  P. 

FRAIL  was  she  born ;  petal  by  petal  fell 
Her  life :  till  it  was  strown  upon  the  herb ; 
Like  petals  all  her  fancies  lay  about. 
And  the  dread  Powers  kept  her  face  toward 

grief, 
Although  she  swerved ;  and  still  with  many  a 

lash 

Guided  her  to  the  anguish  carefully. 
So  bare  her  soul  that  Beauty  like  a  lance 
Pierced  her,  and  odour  full  of  arrows  was. 
She  drugged  her  brain  against  realities, 
And  lived  in  dreams,  and  was  with  music  fed, 

Imploring  to  be  spared  e'en  sweetest  things. 
53 


54  A.   S.   P. 

She  suffered,  and  resorted  to  the  ground, 

Glad  to  be  blind,  and  eager  to  be  deaf; 

Soliciting  eternal  apathy. 

And  she  was  swift  to  steep  her  brain  in  moss, 

And  with  the  heart  that  so  had  loved,  to  blow 

Merely,  and  to  be  idle  in  the  wind. 

She  craved  no  Paradise  but  only  peace. 


THE   QUESTION 

FATHER,  beneath  the  moonless  night, 

This  heavy  stillness  without  light, 

There  comes  a  thought  which  I  must  speak; 

Why  is  my  body  then  so  weak? 

Why  do  I  falter  in  the  race, 

And  flag  behind  this  mighty  pace? 

Why  is  my  strength  so  quickly  flown? 

And  hark!  my  mother  sobs  alone. 

My  son,  when  I  was  young  and  free, 
When  I  was  filled  witn  sap  and  glee, 
I  squandered  here  and  there  my  strength, 

And  to  thy  mother's  arms  at  length 
55 


56  THE    QUESTION 

Weary  I  came,  and  over  tired; 
With  fever  all  my  bones  were  fired: 
Therefore  so  soon  thy  strength  is  flown, 
Therefore  thy  mother  sobs  alone. 

Father,  since  in  your  weaker  thought, 
And  in  your  languor  I  was  wrought, 
Put  me  away  as  creatures  are; 
I  am  infirm  and  filled  with  care. 
Feebly  you  brought  me  to  the  light, 
Ah,  gently  hide  me  out  of  sight ! 
Then  sooner  will  my  strength  be  flown, 
Nor  will  my  mother  sob  alone. 

My  son,  stir  up  the  fire,  and  pass 
Quickly  the  comfortable  glass! 
The  infirm  and  evil  fly  in  vain 
Is  toiling  up  the  window  pane. 


THE   QUESTION  57 

Fill  up,  for  life  is  so,  nor  sigh ; 

We  cannot  run  from  Destiny. 

Then  cheer  thy  strength  that's  quickly  flown. 

Ah,  how  thy  mother  sobs  alone! 


BEAUTIFUL  DEATH 

WHY  dreadest  thou  the  calm  process  of  death  ? 

To  miss  thy  wife's  illuminating  smile  ? 

No  more  to  proudly  touch  thy  child's  bright 

hair? 
To    leave    this    glorying    green,   this   flashing 

sun? 

Yet  Death  is  full  of  leisure,  and  of  light; 
Of  compensations  and  of  huge  amends. 
Since  all  the  dead  do  for  the  living  toil, 
Assisting,  bathing,  in  the  air,  the  earth ; 
A    shower    their    sympathy   draws    from    the 

ground, 

Delicious  kindness  from  the  soil  exhaled. 
58 


BEAUTIFUL    DEATH  59 

Then  thou,  spendthrift  of  time,  shalt  busy  be ; 
Thou  shalt  begin  to  foster  and  prepare. 
O  thou  that  within  glaze  and  blinds  didst  live, 
In  blackness  within  windows  bright  absorbed, 
Face  to  the  surface  swimming  with   drowned 

eyes! 

Thou  as  a  breeze  shalt  wander  thro'  the  ward, 
Balm  to  the  sick,  a  cool  and  vagrant  bliss : 
To  thee  the  tired  faces  shall  incline, 
Incline  with  closing  eyes  and  open  mouths. 
Thou,  dangerous  to  men,  in  prisons  shut, 
With  life  made  irretrievable  and  dark. 
Thou  on  the  thirsty  place  shalt  drop  like  dew, 
Or  like  a  cloud  haste  to  the  yearning  land. 
Thou  maiden  with  the  silent  speckless  ways, 
On  plant  or  creature  squandering  thy  heart ; 
Thou  in  caresses  large  shalt  spend  thy  life. 


60  BEAUTIFUL    DEATH 

Conspiring  with  the   summer   plans  of   lovers, 

scent 

From  evening  hedge  the  walk  of  boy  and  girl. 
Thou   merchant,  or  thou,  clerk,   hard   driven, 

urged 

For  ever  on  bright  iron,  timed  by  bells, 
Shalt  mellow  fruit  in  the  serene  noon  air, 
With  rivulets  of  birds  through  fields  of  light, 
Causing  to  fall  the  indolent  misty  peach. 
Then   thou,  disturbed   so   oft,  shalt  make   for 

peace ; 
Thou  who   didst   injure,   heal,   and   sew,  and 

bless ; 
Thou  who  didst  mar,  shalt  make  for   perfect 

health ; 

Thou,  so  unlucky,  fall  with  fortunate  rain. 
And  I  to  whom  sweet  life  is  dangerous  edged, 


BEAUTIFUL   DEATH  61 

With  tenderness  to  madness  near,  with  need 
Even  of  a  little  dew,  a  drop  of  hope ; 
Disguised  and  starved,  who  dare  not  show  my 

soul, 

Who  walk  with  bitten  lip  and  clenched  hands, 
For  me  divine  relief!     To  dare  to  trust 
Each  impulse,  and  to  drive  free  and  secure; 
All  my  intention  bland  and  prosperous ! 
The  rose  is  at  my  silent  coming  rich ; 
I  on  my  enemy's  eyes  like  sleep  shall  drop, 
And    he    at   dawn    shall    bless   me   and    shall 

drowse. 

Blind  shall  I  be  and  good,  dumb  and  serene : 
I  shall  not  blame,  nor  question ;    I  shall  shine 
Diffused  and  tolerant,  luminous  and  large. 
No  longer  shall  I  vex,  but  live  my  life 
In  solaces,  caresses,  and  in  balms, 


62  BEAUTIFUL    DEATH 

Nocturnal  soothings  and  nutritious  sighs. 
The  unhappy  mind  an  odour  shall  be  breathed ; 
I  shall  be  sagely  blown,  flung  with  design, 
Assist  this  bland  and  universal  scheme, 
Industrious,  happy,  sweet,  delicious,  dead ! 


THE   PRISONER 

BACKWARD  the  prison  door  is  flung, 
Without  the  young  wife  stands ; 
While  to  herself  she  murmurs  with  bright  eyes, 
And  over-eager  hands. 

They  brought  the  young  man  out  to  her, 
That  was  so  strong  erewhile; 
Slowly  he  ventured  up  to  her  strange  arms 
With  unrecalling  smile. 

O  like  a  mother  she  must  lead 

His  slow  and  wandering  pace ; 

He  stammers  to  her  like  a  little  child, 

And  wonders  in  her  face. 
63 


64  THE    PRISONER 

O  like  a  daughter  must  she  live, 
And  no  wife  to  him  now ; 
Only  remain  beside  those  ailing  limbs, 
And  soothe  that  ag£d  brow. 

"  Husband,"  she  said,  "  I  had  rather  closed 

Those  wild  eyes  on  the  bier, 

Rather  have  kissed  those  lips  when  they  were 

cold, 
Than  seen  them  smile  so  drear ! " 


THE  WOUND 

I   DREAMED   that,   having  died,   my  soul  was 

brought 

Into  the  Presence.     Many  angels  stood 
Around,  and  with  delight  upon  me  gazed; 
And  higher  I  discerned  the  face  of  God 
Diffusing  silent  universal  bliss. 
Then   moved   an   angel  toward   me,  and  with 

joy 
Addressed   me,   saying:    "Come   and   rest   at 

last, 

And  having  rested,  then  thou  shalt  rejoice." 
The  heavenly  company  smiled  on  me  sweet; 

But  I  unbared  my  soul,  and  showed  to  them 
65  x 


66  THE    WOUND 

That  wound  which  never  human  word,  or  hope, 
Or  pity  hath  ever  'suaged;  and  at  the  sight 
A  strange  disturbance  on  the  spirits  came, 
And  even  a  dimness  on  the  face  of  God. 
Then   rose   from   God's   right   hand   a   gentle 
Form, 

i 

With  silent  eyes  that  said,  "Hast  thou  for- 
got?" 

And  He  disclosed  His  branded  brow  and 
hands. 

But  I  toward  Him  turning  softly  said, 

"Thy  wounds  are  many,  but  Thou  hadst  no 
child." 


THE   NEW   "DE   PROFUNDIS" 

OUT  from  the  mist,  the  mist,  I  cry; 
Let  not  my  soul  of  numbness  die! 
My  life  is  furled  in  every  limb, 
And  my  existence  groweth  dim. 
My  senses  all  like  weapons  rust, 
And  lie  disused  in  endless  dust. 
I  may  not  love,  I  may  not  hate; 
Slowly  I  feel  my  life  abate. 

O  would  there  were  a  heaven  to  hear! 
O  would  there  were  a  hell  to  fearl 
Ah,  welcome  fire,  eternal  fire, 

To  burn  for  ever  and  not  tire  I 
67 


68  THE   NEW    "DE    PROFUNDIS" 

Better  Ixion's  whirling  wheel, 
And  still  at  any  cost  to  feel! 
Dear  Son  of  God,  in  mercy  give 
My  soul  to  flame,  but  let  me  live! 

I  am  discouraged  by  the  street, 
The  pacing  of  monotonous  feet; 
Faces  of  all  emotion  purged; 
From  nothing  unto  nothing  urged; 
The  living  men  that  shadows  go, 
A  vain  procession  to  and  fro. 
The  earth  an  unreal  course  doth  run, 
Haunted  by  a  phantasmal  sun: 

Thou  didst  create  me  keen  and  bright, 
Of  hearing  exquisite  and  sight. 
Look  on  thy  creature,  muffled,  furled, 
That  has  no  glory  in  thy  world. 


THE   NEW    "DE    PROFUNDIS"  69 

In  odours  that  like  arrows  dart, 
Beauty  that  overwhelms  the  heart 
I  neither  hear,  nor  smell,  nor  see; 
But  only  glide  perpetually. 

I  seem  to  feel  upon  my  soul 
The  slow  approach,  the  gradual  roll 
Of  Darkness  older  than  the  light, 
Of  blackness  gaining  on  the  bright 

0  wasted  is  that  wine  like  blood, 
Wasted  the  flesh  that  was  our  food! 
If  in  the  dimness  without  strife 

1  perish,  life,  O  give  me  life! 


MY  dead  Love  came  to  me,  and  said: 
"God  gives  me  one  hour's  rest, 

To  spend  upon  the  earth  with  thee: 
How  shall  we  spend  it  best?" 

"Why  as  of  old,"  I  said,  and  so 

We  quarrelled  as  of  old. 
But  when  I  turned  to  make  my  peace, 

That  one  short  hour  was  told. 


THE   APPARITION  71 


II 

NINE  nights  she  did  not  come  to  me 
The  heaven  was  filled  with  rain; 

And  as  it  fell,  and  fell,  I  said, 
"tShe  will  not  come  again." 

Last  night  she  came,  not  as  before, 

But  in  a  strange  attire; 
Weary  she  seemed,  and  very  faint, 

As  though  she  came  from  fire. 


72  THE   APPARITION 


III 

SHE  is  not  happy !     It  was  noon ; 

The  sun  fell  on  my  head: 
And  it  was  not  an  hour  in  which 

We  think  upon  the  dead. 

She  is  not  happy!     I  should  know 
Her  voice,  much  more  her  cry; 

And  close  beside  me  a  great  rose 
Had  just  begun  to  die. 

She  is  not  happy!     As  I  walked, 

Of  her  I  was  aware: 
She  cried  out,  like  a  creature  hurt, 

Close  by  me  in  the  air. 


THE   APPARITION  73 


IV 

UNDER  the  trembling  summer  stars, 
I  turned  from  side  to  side; 

When  she  came  in  and  sat  with  me, 
As  though  she  had  not  died. 

And  she  was  kind  to  me  and  sweet, 
She  had  her  ancient  way; 

Remembered  how  I  liked  her  hand 
Amid  my  hair  to  stray. 

She  had  forgotten  nothing,  yet 
Older  she  seemed,  and  still: 

All  quietly  she  took  my  kiss, 
Even  as  a  mother  will. 


74  THE    APPARITION 

She  rose,  and  in  the  streak  of  dawn 

She  turned  as  if  to  go: 
But  then  again  came  back  to  me; 

My  eyes  implored  her  so ! 

She  pushed  the  hair  from  off  my  brow, 

And  looked  into  my  eyes. 
"  I  live  in  calm,"  she  said,  "  and  there 

Am  learning  to  be  wise." 

"  Why  grievest  thou  ?    I  pity  thee 

Still  turning  on  this  bed." 
"And  art  thou  happy?"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Alas !  "  she  sighed,  and  fled. 


THE   APPARITION  75 


I  WOKE:  she  had  been  standing  by, 

With  wonder  on  her  face. 
She  came  toward  me,  very  bright, 

As  from  a  blessed  place. 

She  touched  me  not,  but  smiling  spoke, 

And  softly  as  before. 

"  They    gave    me    drink    from     some    slow 
stream ; 

I  love  thee  now  no  more." 


76  THE   APPARITION 


VI 

THE  other  night  she  hurried  in, 
Her  face  was  wild  with  fear: 

"  Old  friend,"  she  said,  "  I  am  pursued, 
May  I  take  refuge  here?" 


LYRICS 

I 

O  TO  recall ! 

What  to  recall  ? 

All  the  roses  under  snow  ? 

Not  these. 
Stars  that  toward  the  water  go  ? 

Not  these. 

O  to  recall ! 

What  to  recall  ? 

All  the  greenness  after  rain  ? 

Not  this. 
Joy  that  gleameth  after  pain? 

Not  this. 

77 


78  LYRICS 

O  to  recall ! 

What  to  recall  ? 

Not  the  greenness  nor  delight, 

Not  these; 
Not  the  roses  out  of  sight, 

Not  these. 

O  to  recall! 

What  to  recall  ? 

Not  the  star  in  waters  red, 

Not  this: 
Laughter  of  a  girl  that's  dead, 

O  this! 


LYRICS  79 


II 

I  IN  the  greyness  rose; 

I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  one  dead. 

Then  to  the  chest  I  went, 

Where  lie  the  things  of  my  beloved  spread. 

Quietly  these  I  took; 

A  little  glove,  a  sheet  of  music  torn, 

Paintings,  ill-done  perhaps; 

Then  lifted  up  a  dress  that  she  had  worn. 

And  now  I  came  to  where 

Her  letters  are;  they  lie  beneath  the  rest; 

And  read  them  in  the  haze; 

She  spoke  of  many  things,  was  sore  opprest. 


So  LYRICS 

But  these  things  moved  me  not; 

Not  when  she  spoke  of  being  parted  quite, 

Or  being  misunderstood, 

Or  growing  weary  of  the  world's  great  fight. 


Not  even  when  she  wrote 

Of    our    dead    child,    and    the    hand-writing 

swerved ; 

Not  even  then  I  shook: 
Not  even  by  such  words  was  I  unnerved. 


I  thought,  she  is  at  peace; 

Whither  the  child  is  gone,  she  too  has  passed. 

And  a  much  needed  rest 

Is  fallen  upon  her,  she  is  still  at  last. 


LYRICS  81 

But  when  at  length  I  took 
From  under  all  those  letters  one  small  sheet, 
Folded  and  writ  in  haste ; 
Why  did    my   heart  with    sudden    sharpness 
beat? 


Alas,  it  was  not  sad ! 

Her  saddest  words  I  had  read  calmly  o'er. 

Alas,  it  had  no  pain ! 

Her  painful  words,  all  these  I  knew  before. 


A  hurried  happy  line ! 

A  little  jest,  too  slight  for  one  so  dead : 

This  did  I  not  endure: 

Then  with  a  shuddering  heart  no  more  I  read. 

F 


82  LYRICS 


III 

O  THOU  art  put  to  many  uses,  sweet! 

Thy  blood  will   urge   the  rose,  and  surge  in 

Spring; 
But  yet!    .     .    . 

And  all  the  blue  of  thee  will  go  to  the  sky, 
And  all  thy  laughter  to  the  rivers  run ; 
But  yet!    .    .    . 

Thy  tumbling  hah*  will  in  the  West  be  seen, 
And  all  thy  trembling  bosom  in  the  dawn ; 
But  yet!    .     .    . 


LYRICS  83 

Thy  briefness  in  the  dewdrop  shall  be  hung, 
And  all  the  frailness  of  thee  on  the  foam; 
But  yet!     .     .    . 

Thy  soul  shall  be  upon  the  moonlight  spent, 
Thy  mystery  spread  upon  the  evening  mere. 
And  yet!  .  .  . 


CHRIST  IN   HADES 

A  PHANTASY 

KEEN  as  a  blinded  man,  at  dawn  awake, 
Smells  in  the  dark  the  cold  odour  of  earth; 
Eastward  he  turns  his  eyes,  and  over  him 
A  dreadful  freshness  exquisitely  breathes; 
The  room  is  brightening,  even  his  own  face! 
So  the  excluded  ghosts  in  Hades  felt 
A  waft  of  early  sweet,  and  heard  the  rain 
Of  Spring  beginning  over  them;   they  all 
Stood  still,  and  in  each  other's  faces  looked. 
And  restless  grew  their  queen  Persephone; 
Who,  like  a  child,  dreading  to  be  observed 

By  awful  Dis,  threw  little  glances  down 
84 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  85 

Toward  them,  and  understood  them  with  her 

eyes. 

Perpetual  dolour  had  as  yet  but  drooped 
The  corners  of  her  mouth ;    and  in  her  hand 
She  held  a  bloom  that  had  on  earth  a  name. 
Quickly  she  whispered:    "Come,  my  Hermes, 

Come! 
'Tis  time  to  fetch  me!     Ah,  through  all  my 

veins 

The  sharpness  of  the  spring  returns :   I  hear 
The  stalk  revive  with  sap,  and  the  first  drops 
On  green  illumined  grass;   now  over  me 
The  blades  are  growing  fast;   I  cannot  rest. 
He  comes,  he  comes!     Yet  with  how  slow  a 

step, 

Who  used  to  run  along  a  sunny  gust! 
And  O  a  withered  wreath!   no  roses  now 


86  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Dewy  from  paradise.      Surely  not  his 

Those    earnest    eyes,   that    ragged    hair;    his 

face 

Was  glad  and  cold.      This  is  no  god  at  all, 
Only  some  grieving  human  shade,  with  hands 
Unsightly,  and  the  eager  Furies  wheel 
Over  him ! "     Slowly  to  her  side  her  arms 
Had  fallen;   Christ  with  grave  eyes  looks  on 

her. 
Her  young  mouth  trembled  fast,  and  from  her 

hand 

With  serious  face  she  let  the  earthly  flower 
Drop  down ;  then,  stretching  out  her  arms,  she 

said: 

"O  all  fresh  out  of  beautiful  sunlight! 
Thine  eyes  are  still  too  dazed  to  see  us  clear. 
Was  it  not  difficult  to  come  away 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  87 

Straight  from  the  greenness  to  the  dimness? 

Now 

It  is  the  time  of  tender,  opening  things. 
Above  my  head  the  fields  murmur  and  wave, 
And  breezes  are  just  moving  the  clear  heat. 
O  the  mid-noon  is  trembling  on  the  corn, 
On  cattle  calm,  and  trees  in  perfect  sleep. 
And  hast  thou  empty  come?     Hast  thou  not 

brought 

Even  a  blossom  with  the  noise  of  rain 
And  smell  of  earth  about  it,  that  we  all 
Might  gather  round  and  whisper  over  it  ? 
At  one  wet  blossom  all  the  dead  would  feel ! 
O  thou  beginning  to  glide  here  a  shadow, 
Soon  shalt  thou  know  how  much  it  seems  to  us, 
In  miserable  dim  magnificence, 
To  feel  the  snowdrop  growing  over  us! 


88  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

That  barren  crown !  but  now  it  was  a  wreath. 
These  gusts  of  Hell  have  blown  it  into  thorn ! 
If  thou  canst  bear  it  yet,  O  speak  to  me 
Of  the  blue  noon,  of  breezes  and  of  rivers ! " 

A   wonderful    stillness    stopped    her;    like   to 

trees 

Motionless  in  an  ecstasy  of  rain, 
So  the  tall  dead  stood  drooping  around  Christ, 
Under  the  falling  peace  intensely  still; 
And  some  in  slow  delight  their  faces  raised 
Upwards ;  but  soon,  like  leaves,  duly  released, 
Tormented  phantoms,  ancient  injured  shades, 
Sighing  began  downward  to  drift  and  glide 
Toward  him,  and  unintelligibly  healed 
Lingered,  with  closing  eyes  and  parting  lips. 
Agamemnon  bowed  over,  and  from  his  wheel 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  89 

Ixion  staggered  to  his  feet  all  blind. 
Over  the  head  of  Jesus  the  whole  sky 
Of  pain  began  to  drive:   old  punishments 
Diswreathing  drooped,  and  legendary  dooms 
Dispersing  hung,  and  lurid  history  streamed. 
But  he  against  that  flying  sky  remained 
Placid  with  power;    hi  silence  stood  the  dead, 
Gazing ;  only  was  heard  that  river  steal, 
The  listless  ripple  of  Oblivion. 
Then  an  Athenian  ghost  stood  out  and  spoke. 
"  I  fear  to  speak  to  thee,  while  these  my  ey<?« 
Behold  our  great  life  interrupted  pause. 
That  was  our  sky,  that  passes :  and  I  miss 
The  busy  sound  of  water,  and  of  stone ; 
And  sorrows  that  we  thought  perpetual 
I  see  suspended,  and  amid  them  thee 
Gentle,  and  all  injured.     Art  thou  a  god 


90  CHRIST   IN    HADES 

Easily  closing  all  these  open  eyes, 

And  hast  not   spoken  word  ?     Thou   hast   not 

played 

Monotonously  as  rain,  inducing  sleep : 
Thou  comest  without  lute,  yet  hast  thou  power 
To  charm  the  fixed  melancholy  of  spirits  ? 
Art  thou  a  god?     Then  guide  us  to  the  air, 
To  trees  and  rivers,  that  peculiar  light 
Which  even  now  is  squandered  on  the  beasts. 
Canst  thou  not  make  the  primrose  venture  up 
Or  bring  the  gentlest  shower?     O  pity  us; 
For  I  would  ask  of  thee  only  to  look 
Upon  the  wonderful  sunlight,  and  to  smell 
Earth  in  the  rain.     Is  not  the  labourer, 
Returning  heavy  through  the  August  sheaves 
Against  the  setting  sun,  who  gladly  smells 
His  supper  from  the  opening  door,  is  he 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  91 

Not  happier  than  these  melancholy  kings  ? 
How  good  it  is  to  live,  even  at  the  worst ! 
God  was  so  lavish  to  us  once,  but  here 
He  hath  repented,  jealous  of  his  beams. 
Just  as  a  widower,  that  dreaming  holds 
His  dead  wife  in  his  arms,  not  wondering, 
So  natural  it  appears ;  then  starting  up 
With  trivial  words,  or  even  with  a  jest, 
Realises  all  the  uncoloured  dawn, 
And  near  his  head  the  young  bird  in  the  leaves 
Stirring ;  not  less,  not  otherwise  do  we 
Want    in    this    colourless    country   the   warm 

earth. 

Yet  how  shall  we  in  thy  tormented  face 
Believe  ?      Thou   comest   from   the  glistening 

sun 
As  out  of  some  great  battle,  nor  hast  thou 


92  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

The  beautiful  ease  of  the  untroubled  gods. 
Most    strong    are    they,  for    they   are    joyous 

cold. 

Thou  art  not  happy !  We  can  trust  thee  not. 
How  wilt  thou  lead  with  feet  already  pierced  ? 
And  if  we  ask  thy  hand,  see,  it  is  torn ! " 

But  when   he   had   spoken,  Christ  no   answer 

made. 

Upon  his  hands  in  uncouth  gratitude 
Great    prisoners    muttering    fawned:    behind 

them  stood 

Dreadful  suspended  business,  and  vast  life 
Pausing,  dismantled  piers,  and  naked  frames. 
And    further,  shapes    from    obscure    troubles 

loosed, 
Like  mist  descended:  on  the  horizon  last, 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  93 

The  piled  tremendous  firmament  collapsed, 
With    dazzling     pains,    and     solemn    sorrows 
white. 

Then  stole  a  woman  up  to  him,  and  said : 
"  Although  I  know  thee  not,  yet  can  I  tell 
That   only   a    great   love    hath    brought   thee 

hither. 
Didst  thou   so   ail   in   brightness,  and   couldst 

not  rest 

For  thinking  of  some  woman  ?  Was  thy  bed 
So  empty,  cold  thy  hearth,  and  aimless  glides 
Thy  wife  amidst  us  ?  Whom  then  dost  thou 

seek  ? 
For   see,  we    are   so    changed:    thou   wouldst 

not  know 
The  busy  form  that  moved  about  thy  fire. 


94  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

She  has  no  occupation,  and  no  care, 
No  little  tasks.     O  we  had  pleasant  homes. 
And  often  we  remember  husbands  dear, 
That  were  most  kind,  and  wonder  after  them. 
My  little  children !     Who  sings  to  them  now  ? 
Return   then   to  the  earth !     Thou   canst  not 

fetch 

Thy  drooping  listless  woman  to  the  air. 
Thou'lt  have  no  comfort  out  of  her  at  all. 
Yet  say,  perhaps  thou  hast  but  lately  died, 
And    wanderest     here     unburied?       Restless 

seem 

Those  eyes ;  ah,  on  thy  body  thou  dost  feel 
The  bird  settling?     Hath  no  friend  covered  up 
Thy  limbs,  or  do  they  fall  with  falling  waves  ? " 
But  one  broke  in  on  her  with  eager  words. 
"See  how  we  live  along  exhausted  streams, 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  95 

Eluding  forests,  and  dispersing  hills; 

O    but    I    gloried   and   drank   and   wept   and 

laughed ! 

Give  me  again  great  life  I    To  dare,  to  enjoy, 
To  explore,  never  to  tire,  to  be  alive, 
And  full  of  blood,  and  young,  to  risk,  to  love ! 
The  bright  glory  of  after-battle  wine, 
The  flushed  recounting  faces,  the  stern  hum 
Of  burnished  armies,  thrill  of  unknown  seas ! " 
As  he  was  speaking,  slowly  all  the  dead 
The  melancholy  attraction  of  Jesus  felt; 
And  millions,  like  a  sea,  wave  upon  wave, 
Heaved   dreaming  to  that  moonlight  face,  or 

ran 

In  wonderful  long  ripples,  sorrow-charmed. 
Toward  him  in  faded  purple,  pacing  came 
Dead  emperors,  and  sad  unflattered  kings; 


96  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Unlucky  captains  listless  armies  led ; 
Poets  with  music  frozen  on  their  lips, 
Toward  the  pale  Brilliance  sighed ;  until  at  last 
Antiquity,  like  evening  gathering, 
With  mild  and  starry  faces,  gradually 
Had  stolen  up.     Glimmering  all  the  dead 
Looked    upon    Jesus ;     as    they    stood,    some 

thought 

Spread  from  the  furthest  edges  like  a  breeze, 
Till  like  a  leafy  forest,  the  huge  host 
Whispered  together,  bending  all  one  way 
Toward    him ;    and    then    ensued    a    stillness 

deep. 

But  suddenly  the  form  of  Jesus  stirred ; 
And  all  the  dead  stirred  with  him  suddenly. 
He  shuddered  with  a  rapture ;   and   from  his 

eyes 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  97 

They  felt  returning  agonies  of  hope. 

As    men,    flame-wrapped,    hither    and    thither 

run, 

To  rid  them,  or  fall  headlong  to  the  ground ; 
The  dead,  caught  in  intolerable  hope, 
Hither  and  thither  burning  rushed,  or  fell 
Imploring  him  to  leave  them  cold;  but  Christ 
Came  through  them :    leading  irresistibly 
Not  western  spirits  alone :   but  all  that  world 
Was  up !    and  after  him  in  passion  swept 
Dead  Asia,  murmuring,  and  the  buried  North ! 

But  in  his  path  a  lonely  spirit  stood; 
A  Roman,  he  who  from  a  greater  Greek 
Borrowed  as  beautifully  as  the  moon 
The  fire  of  the  sun:   fresh  come  he  was,  and 
still 


98  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Deaf  with  the   sound   of   Rome:   forward   he 

came 

Softly ;  a  human  tear  had  not  yet  dried. 
"Whither,"   he    said,    "O   whither   dost   thou 

lead 

In  such  a  calm  all  these  embattled  dead  ? 
Almost  I  could  begin  to  sing  again, 
To    see    these    nations    burning   run    through 

Hell, 

Magnificently  anguished,  by  the  grave 
Untired ;    and    this    last    March    against    the 

Powers. 

Who  would  more  gladly  follow  thee  than  I  ? 
But  over  me  the  human  trouble  comes. 
Dear  gladiator  pitted  against  Fate, 
I  fear  for  thee :   around  thee  is  the  scent 
Of  over-beautiful,  quick-fading  things, 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  99 

The  pang,  the  gap,  the  briefness,  all  the  dew, 
Tremble,  and  suddenness  of  earth :   I  must 
Remember    young    men    dead    in    their    hot 

bloom, 

The  sweetness  of  the  world  edged  like  a  sword, 
The  melancholy  knocking  of  those  waves, 
The  deep  unhappiness  of  winds,  the  light 
That  comes  on   things  we   never   more   shall 

see. 
Yet    I    am    thrilled:    thou    seemest    like    the 

bourne 

Of  all  our  music,  of  the  hinting  night, 
Of  souls  under  the  moonlight  opening." 
Now  after  speaking,  he  bowed  down  his  head, 
Faltered,  and  shed  wet  tears  in  the  vain  place. 
And  Christ  half  turned,  and  with  grave,  open 

eyes, 


ioo  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Looked    on    him :     but    behind    there  was    a 

sound 

Of  vast  impatience,  and  the  murmurous  chafe 
Of  captains  sick  for  war ;  and  poets  shone 
All  dreaming  bright,  and  fiery  prophets,  seized 
With    gladness,  boded    splendid    things ;    and 

scarred 

Heroes,  as  desperate  men,  that  see  no  path, 
Yet  follow  a  riddled  memorable  flag, 
Pressed  close  upon  that  leader  world-engraved. 
But  he  began  to  pace  with  slower  step, 
With  wandering  gaze,  still  hesitating  more ; 
Then    stayed,  and    on    his    last   foot   strongly 

leaned. 

Faintly  the  air  bore  to  him  blood  he  knew. 
His  gentle  eyes  hither  and  thither  roved. 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  101 

The  Furies  rose  ejaculating  fast, 

And  circled  nearer  o'er  the  limitless  dead, 

Who    paused,   all    whispering:     before    them 

hung 

Still  unredeemed  Prometheus  from  his  crag; 
His   limbs   impaled :    then   stood   the    Son   of 

Man, 

And  seemed  almost  about  to  speak;  the  dead 
In  silence  upward  gazed.     The  Titan's  face 
Through  passing  storms  leaps  out  in  dazzling 

pain 

Momently  on  them,  and  his  tone  returns 
Fitfully  through  the  gusting  hurricane. 
"  Stay,  mighty  dreamer,  though  thou  comest  on 
Attracting  all  the  dead,  to  thy  deep  charm 
Resigned  and  bright;    yet  stay,  and  look  on 

me! 


102  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Do    I    not    trouble    thee?      Dost    thou    not 

swerve 

Smelling  my  kindred  blood  on  the  great  track  ? 
Full  in  thy  path  I  menace.     After  me 
Canst  thou  go   on?"     The   storm   carried   his 

voice 
From  them,  and  veiled  with   rushing   hail   his 

face. 

Then  many  unbound  heroes  toward  him  ran, 
Going  with  great  dumb  gestures  between  him 
And  Christ ;  and  in  their  leader's  face  looked  up 
Beseeching  him  their  brother  to  release; 
Then  they  refrained,  all  motionless :  and  now 
The    Titan    bowed,  coming    upon    them,  and 

seemed 

Falling  to  carry  with  him  all  the  crag 
Down  on  them :  over  the  dead  host  he  cried : 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  103 

"  Lo  all  these  ancient  prisoners  released ! 
Did  I  not  feel  them  everywhere  come  down 
Easily  from  immortal  torment  ?    yet 
I,  I  alone,  while  all  came  down  from  woe, 
Still    striving,  could    not    wrench    away  these 

limbs. 
O  Christ,  canst  thou  a  nail  move  from  these 

feet, 

Thou  who  art  standing  in  such  love  of  me  ? 
Thy  hands  are  too   like   mine   to   undo  these 

bonds, 

Brother,  although  the  dead  world  follow  thee, 
Deep-fascinated :   love  hath  marred  us  both, 
And  one  yearning,  as  wide  as  is  the  world. 
O  how  thy  power  leaves  thee  at  this  cross! 
Prepare   thee    for   the   anguish!     Thou   shalt 

know 


104  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Trouble  so  exquisite,  that  from  his  wheel 
Happy  Ixion  shall  spare  tears  for  thee; 
And  thou  shalt  envy  me  my  shadowy  crag 
And  softly-feeding  vulture.     Thou  shalt  stand 
Gazing  for  ever  on  the  earth,  and  watch 
How  fast  thy  words  incarnadine  the  world  ! 
That  I  know  all  things  is  my  torment;    noth- 
ing, 

That  ever  shall  befall,  to  me  is  new : 
Already  I  have  suffered  it  far-off; 
And  on  the  mind  the  poor  event  appears 
The  pale  reflexion  of  some  ancient  pang. 
Yet  I  foresee  dim  comfort,  and  discern 
A  bleak  magnificence  of  endless  hope. 
It   seems   that   even   thy   woe   shall   have   an 

end. 
It  comes  upon  thee !     O  prepare  thee ;  ah, 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  105 

That  wailing,  those  young  cries,  this  smoul- 
dering smell ! 

I  see  the  dreadful  look  of  men  unborn. 

What  hast  thou  said,  that  all  the  air  is 
blood  ?  " 

He  cried  with   nostrils   shuddering   fast;   and 

Christ 

Moved  to  unbind  him;  but  with  arm  out- 
stretched 

Suddenly  stood.     A  scene  unrolling  stayed 
Him  who  had  easily  released  the  dead. 
He  knew  that  fo»-  a  time  the  great  advance 
He  must  delay,  postponing  our  desire. 
The  earth  again  he  sees,  and  all  mankind 
Half  in  the  shining  sun  upright,  and  half 
Reposing  in  the  shadow ;   deserts  and  towns, 


io6  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

And  cloudy  mountains  and  the  trembling  sea, 
And    all    the    deeds    done;    and    the    spoken 

words 

Distinct  he  hears:   the  human  history 
Before  his  eyes  defiles  in  bright  sunbeams, 
An  endless  host  parading  past;  whom  he, 
Their  leader  mild,  remorsefully  reviewed, 
And  had  no  joy  in  them,  although  aloud 
They  cried  his  name,  and  with  fierce  faces  glad 
Looked  up  to  him  for  praise,  all  murmuring 

proud, 
And    bloody    trophies    toward    him    flourished 

and  waved : 

But  as  he  stood,  gazing,  from  time  to  time 
He   seemed   to   swerve,    as   though    his    hand 

grew  red, 
Or  move,  as  though  to  interrupt  some  sight 


CHRIST    IN    HADES  107 

Now  when   the  dead   saw  that   he   must  not 

stir, 

Absorbed,  with  wonder  gathering  in  his  eyes, 
They    came    about    him,    touching    him,    and 

some 

Reminded  him,  and  looked  into  his  face. 
Others  in  patience  laid  them  down,  or  fell 
To  calling  him  sweet  earthly  names :    at  last 
Waiting  the  signal  that  he  could  not  give, 
Wanting    the    one    word    that    he    might    not 

speak, 

Seeing  he  stirred  not  once,  they  wandered  off, 
And  gathering  into  groups,  yet  spoke  of  him; 
Then  to  despair  slowly  dispersed,  as  men 
Return  with  morning  to  the  accustomed  task. 
And  as  without  some  theatre,  so  friend 
Waited  for  friend,  and  speaking  of  that  scene, 


ro8  CHRIST    IN    HADES 

Into  the  ancient  sorrow  walked  away. 

Yet  many  could  not,  after  such  a  sight, 

At  once  retire,  but  must  from  time  to  time 

Linger  with  undetermining  bright  eyes. 

Now  at  each  parting  way  some  said  farewell, 

And  each  man  took  his  penance  up,  perhaps 

Less  easily  from  such  an  interval: 

The   vault   closed   back,   woe   upon   woe,   the 

wheel 

Revolved,  the  stone  rebounded;   for  that  time 
Hades  her  interrupted  life  resumed. 


HEROD 

A    TRAGEDY    IN    THREE    ACTS 
By  STEPHEN  PHILLIPS 

TWENTY-SECOND    THOUSAND,     xamo. 
GREEN  CLOTH.    $1.25  net.    Postage  8  cents 

"  Herod  "  was  produced  at  Her  Majesty's  Theatre, 
London,  October  31,  1900,  by  Mr.  Beerbohm  Tree. 
Following  are  some  comments  by  the  London  Press : 

THE  TIMES 

"  That  Mr.  Phillips  has  the  poet's  imagination  all  who  have  read 
'  Paolo  and  Francesca '  must  be  well  aware.  Has  he  the  imagination 
of  the  dramatist  ?  That  was  the  first  question  raised  by  his  '  Herod,' 
and  the  performance  of  this  tragedy  last  night  leaves  no  doubt  about 
the  answer.  Mr.  Phillips  has  not  only  the  technic,  the  'fingering/ 
but  also  the  bold,  visualizing  imagination  of  the  dramatist. 

"  Here,  then,  is  a  noble  work  of  dramatic  imagination,  dealing  greatly 
with  great  passion  ;  multicolored  and  exquisitely  musical.  Though  it 
is  '  literature '  throughout,  it  is  never  the  literature  of  the  closet,  but 
always  the  literature  of  the  theatre,  with  the  rapid  action,  the  marked 
contrasts,  the  fierce  beating  passion,  the  broad  effects  proper  to  the 
theatre.  In  other  words,  Mr.  Stephen  Phillips  is  not  only  a  poet,  and 
a  rare  poet,  but  that  still  rarer  thing,  a  dramatic  poet." 
THE  MORNING  LEADER 

11  Splendidly  opulent  in  conception  ;  perfect  in  construction ;  far 
beyond  all  contemporary  English  effort  in  the  aptitude  of  its  verse  to 
the  subject  and  to  the  stage." 

THE  DAILY  NEWS 

"  The  drama  possesses  the  sovereign  quality  of  movement,  and  it 
is  even  prodigal  in  the  matter  of  dramatic  situations.  To  this  we  have 
to  add  that  its  dialogue  speaks  the  language  of  passion,  and  is  rarely 
encumbered  by  mere  descriptive  or  reflective  passages." 

THE  OUTLOOK 

"  Mr.  Phillips  has  done  a  blank-verse  play  which  Is  not  only  poetry 
of  the  purest  water,  but  dramatic  poetry.  In  •  Herod '  he  has  given 
us  a  poem  of  rare  beauty  and  distinction,  rich  in  music  and  color,  and 
in  striking  thought  and  image.  If  he  should  never  write  another  line, 
his  '  Herod '  will  remain  a  pillar  of  dramatic  imagination  on  which  its 
author  and  the  manager  who  produced  it,  and  the  public  who  applauded 
it,  may  each  and  all  look  back  with  pride." 

THE  SPECTATOR 

"The  purely  dramatic  quality  of  the  play  Is  surprisingly  high. 
There  remains  the  literary  quality  of  the  verse,  and  here,  too,  we  can 
speak  with  few  reservations.  Mr.  Phillips'  blank  verse  is  flexible, 
melodious,  and  majestic." 


Paolo  and   Francesca 

A     TRAGEDY     IN     FOUR    ACTS 
By   STEPHEN   PHILLIPS 

With  Frontispiece  after  the  Painting  by  G.  F.  Watti,  R.  A. 
Twenty-ninth  Thousand     izmo     Price,  $1.25  net     Postage  8  cents 

"  Nothing  finer  has  come  to  us  from  an  English  pen  in  the 
way  of  a  poetic  and  literary  play  than  this  since  the  appearance 
of  Taylor's  '  Philip  Van  Artevelde.'" — New  York  Times. 

"  A  beautiful  piece  of  literature,  disclosing  the  finest  imagi- 
nation, the  most  delicate  instinct,  and  the  most  sincere  art.  It 
is  too  early  to  say  that  it  is  great,  but  it  is  not  too  soon  to 
affirm  that  nothing  s"o  promising  has  come  from  the  hand  of  an 
English  or  American  poet  of  late  years." — Outlook. 

"  The  play  is  a  powerful  one,  and  Mr.  Phillips  maintains  in 
it  his  wonderful  pitch  of  style,  which  was  so  striking  in  his 
earlier  poems." — Independent. 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  '  Paolo  and  Francesca  '  is 
the  most  important  example  of  English  dramatic  poetry  that 
has  appeared  since  Browning  died.  ...  In  Stephen 
Phillips  we  have  a  man  who  will  prove  that  the  finest  achieve- 
ments of  English  poetry  are  a  continuing  possession,  and  not 
solely  a  noble  inheritance. " — Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

"  '  Paolo  and  Francesca '  has  beauty,  passion,  and  power. 
.  .  .  The  poem  deserves  a  wide  reading  on  account  of  its 
intrinsic  merit  and  interest." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  The  reader  may  turn  to  '  Paolo  and  Francesca'  with  the 
assurance  of  passing  an  hour  of  the  highest  possible  pleasure. 
.  .  .  One  of  the  most  exalted  histories  of  human  pas- 
sion and  human  frailty  has  received  a  fitting  frame  of  verse. 
.  .  .  It  is  certain  that  his  first  act  only  would  suffice  in 
his  facility  of  language,  vigor  of  thought,  intensity  of  emotion^ 
conception  of  dramatic  possibilities,  and  all  that  goes  to  make 
the  drama  great,  to  give  the  author  a  settled  place  among  the 
best  of  the  younger  men." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 


MARPESSA 

By   STEPHEN    PHILLIPS 

Illustrated  by  PHILIP   CONNARD 

In  the  "  Flowers  of  Parnassus"  Series:    Sq.  i6mo  (sJ  X4J) 

SIXTEENTH   THOUSAND 

Art  Green  Cloth.     50  cents  net 

Green  Leather.    75  cents  net.     Postage  4  cents 

OPINIONS    OP    THE    PRESS 

The  opinion  of  MR.  WILLIAM  DBAN  HOWELLS  :  "Spiritual  in  a  fine  way 
Mr.  Phillips's  work  is,  running  into  frank  realism  where  a  modern  theme  is 
dealt  with,  and  keeping  a  high  idealism  where  the  question  is  of  fable  or  of 
faith.  His  poems  of  'The  Woman  with  a  Dead  Soul'  and  "The  Wife' 
are  examples  in  the  one  sort,  and  his  '  Marpessa '  and  '  Christ  in  Hades '  are 
instances  in  the  other.  In  power  of  picturing  to  the  imagination  they  are 
all  of  like  charm,  and  in  all  of  them  one  feels  the  glow  of  the  poet's  youth. 
Tennyson  at  his  age  had  not  done  better." 

PROFESSOR  TRENT  :  "  Poetry  as  beautiful  as  any  that  has  been  given  us  since 
Tennyson  was  in  his  prime." 

Tkt  Setva.net  Review :  "  Almost  perfect  diction,  melodious  verse,  lyric 
sweetness,  single  lines  and  passages  that  thrill  and  linger  with  us,  ...  'sweet 
to  the  mouth  and  ear.'  In  ten  years  Mr.  Phillips  will  be  ranked  as  ihe 
greatest  living  British  poet." 

Tht  London  Daily  Chronicle:  "  We  may  pay  Mr.  Phillips  the  distinguished 
compliment  of  saying  that  his  blank  verse  is  finer  than  his  work  in  rhyme. 
.  .  .  Almost  the  whole  of  this  book  is  concerned  with  life  and  death,  largely 
and  liberally  contemplated  ;  it  is  precisely  that  kind  of  contemplation  which 
our  recent  poetry  lacks.  '  Poetry,"  says  Coleridge  once  more,  '  is  the  blossom 
and  the  fragrancy  of  all  human  knowledge,  human  thoughts,  human  passions, 
emotions,  knowledge.'  It  should  not  be  didactic,  it  cannot  help  being 
moral,  it  must  not  be  instructive,  but  it  must  needs  be  educative.  It  is,  as  it 
were,  the  mind  of  man  in  excelsis,  caught  into  a  world  of  light.  We  praise 
Mr.  Phillips  for  many  excellences,  but  chiefly  for  th*  great  air  and  ardour  of 
his  poetry,  its  persistent  loftiness." 

Literature  :  "  No  such  remarkable  book  of  verse  as  this  has  appeared  for 
several  years.  Mr.  Phillips  boldly  challenges  comparison,  in  style  and 
subject,  with  the  work  of  the  great  master* ;  the  writers  whom  he  makes  you 
think  of  range  up  to  Milton,  and  do  not  fall  below  I-andor.  His  blank  verse 
is  entirely  his  own,  everywhere  dignified,  sonorous,  and  musical.  No  man 
in  dur  generation,  and  few  in  any  generation,  have  written  better  than  this." 
Bladnvooifi  Alagatitu :  "  Passages  that  march  with  the  footfalls  of  the 
immortals,  .  .  .  stately  line*  with  all  the  music  and  meaning  of  the  highest 
poetry." 


THE  POEMS  OF 

WILLIAM    WATSON 

EDITED    AND    ARRANGED    WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION 

By  J.  A.  SPENDER 

In  Two  Volumes.    With  Portrait  and  many  New  Poems 
i2mo.    $2.50  net,  postage  18  cents 

Times —  William  Watson  is,  above  all  things,  an  artist  who  is  proud  of  his 
calling  and  conscientious  in  every  syllable  that  he  writes.  To  appreciate 
his  work  you  must  take  it  as  a  whole,  for  he  is  in  line  with  the  high  priests 
of  poetry,  reared,  like  Ion,  in  the  shadow  of  the  Delphic  presences  and 
memories,  and  weighing  every  word  of  his  utterance  before  it  is  given  to 
the  world. 

Athena-um  —  His  poetry  is  a  "  criticism  of  life,"  and,  viewed  as  such,  it  is 
magnificent  in  its  lucidity,  its  elegance,  its  dignity.  .  .  .  We  revere  and  ad- 
mire Mr.  Watson's  pursuit  of  a  splendid  ideal ;  and  we  are  sure  that  his 
artistic  self-mastery  will  be  rewarded  by  a  secure  place  in  the  ranks  of  our 
poets.  .  .  .  We  may  express  our  belief  that  Mr.  Watson  will  keep  his  high 
and  honorable  station  when  many  showier  but  shallower  reputations  have 
withered  away,  and  must  figure  in  any  representative  anthology  of  English 
poetry.  ..."  Wordsworth's  Grave  *'  is  in  our  judgment  Mr.  Watson's 
masterpiece  ...  its  music  is  graver  and  deeper,  its  language  is  purer  and 
clearer,  than  the  frigid  droning  and  fugitive  beauties  of  the  "  Elegy  in  a 
Country  Churchyard." 

Westmitister  Gazette  — .  .  .  No  discerning  critic  could  doubt  that  there 
are  more  elements  of  permanence  in  Mr.  Watson's  poems  than  in  those  of 
any  of  his  present  contemporaries.  ...  A  very  treasury  of  jewelled  aphorisms, 
as  profound  and  subtle  in  wisdom  and  truth  as  they  are  consummately 
felicitous  in  expression. 

Bookman  —  From  the  very  first  in  these  columns  we  have  pleaded  by  sober 
argument,  not  by  hysterical  praise,  Mr.  Watson's  right  to  the  foremost  place 
among  our  living  poets  The  book  is  a  collection  of  works  of  art  like  a 
cabinet  of  gems. 

Spectator — There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  possession  of  a  complete  edition  of 
a  great  writer's  works.  .  .  .  We  must  apologize  for  quoting  so  copiously,  but 
the  book  is  so  full  of  beautiful  things  that  in  his  pleasure  at  seeing  them  all 
together  the  critic  is  irresistibly  tempted  to  take  them  out  and  remind  his 
readers  of  them  separately. 

St.  James's  Gazette  — The  publication  of  these  volumes  confers  a  distinct 
benefit  on  contemporary  thought,  contemporary  poetry,  and  on  English 
literature  in  a  wider  sense. 


THE  WORKS  of  LAURENCE  HOPE 
INDIA'S    LOVE    LYRICS 

COLLECTED    AND    ARRANGED    IN    VERSE 

By  LAURENCE   HOPE 
I2mo.    $1-50  net,  postage  10  cents 


STARS  OF  THE  DESERT:  POEMS 

By  LAURENCE    HOPE 
I2mo.    $1.50  net,  postage  10  cents 


LAST    POEMS 

TRANSLATIONS    FROM    THE    BOOK    OF    INDIAN    LOVE 

By  LAURENCE    HOPE 

Uniform  with  "  India's  Love  Lyrics  "  and  "  Stars  of  the  Desert " 
i2mo.    $1.50  net,  postage  10  cents 

"Last  Poems"  contains  all  the  additional  poems  by  the  late  author 
of  these  well-known  songs  of  the  East. 

SOME     OPINIONS     OP     CRITICS 

Tke  Baltimore  Sun  —  No  one  can  read  these  poems  without  feeling  that 
the  author  has  made  a  valuable  transcription  into  English  literature  of  much 
of  the  characteristic  thought  and  feeling  of  the  East.  These  poems  are  gen- 
uine lyrics,  for  they  give  us  true  glimpses  into  the  heart  of  men. 

The  Boston  Evening  Transcript — Laurence  Hope  is  a  thorough  artist 
to  his  finger-tips,  and  his  choice  of  words  and  images  is  as  keen  and  exact  as 
his  ability  to  adapt  Indian  literature  to  the  more  prosaic  mood  and  tongue  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon. 

The  Athentrum  —  Laurence  Hope  has  caught  admirably  the  dominant 
notes  of  this  Indian  love  poetry,  its  delirious  absorption  in  the  instant,  its 
out-of-door  air,  its  melancholy.  Slender  brown  limbs  stir  silently  in  the 
garden  where  the  flying  foxes  cross  the  moon,  in  the  hot,  iasmine-scented 
jungle,  among  the  pink  almond  blossoms  of  Kandahar.  And  always  there  is 
the  poignant  sense  of  the  sweetness  of  love,  a  moment's  salvage  from  the 
flux  of  yean. 


RECENT          POETRY 


A  SHROPSHIRE  LAD.  By  A.  E.  HOUSMAN.  New 
Edition,  1 2 mo.  Cloth,  $1.00  net.  Half  morocco, 
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1*ht  San,  NtwTtrk  — "  Mr.  Housman's  verse  bat  a  very  rare  charm,  due  to 
its  blending  of  a  iubducd  and  poignant  sadneM  with  the  old  pagan  glorification 
of  the  beauty  and  the  sacredncss  of  youth." 

Chap  B<nk  —  "The  best  in  '  A  Shropshire  Lad*  is  altogether  memorable; 
you  cannot  shake  it  off  or  quote  it  awry." 

Briokljn  Eaglt  —  "  Something  to  please  on  every  page." 

THE  FOOL  OF  THE  WORLD,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
By  ARTHUR  SYMONS.  izmo.  $1.50  net.  Half 
morocco,  $5.00  net.  Postage  15  cents. 

Niw  T»rt  Evining  Put  —  "Stands  at  the  head  of  all  British   poets  of  his 
generation." 
Btttman  — "  One  of  the  truest  poets  that  modern  England  owns." 

ACTION,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.  By  JOHN  ERSKINE. 
i2mo.  $1.25  net.  Postage  i o  cents. 

Prnldinci  Journal  — "  A  sensitive  feeling  for  rhythm  and  the  ability  to 
select  intuitively  the  right  word." 

THE  DAYS  THAT  PASS.  By  HELEN  HUNTINGTON. 
1 2 mo.  $1.25  net.  Half  morocco,  $4.  oo  net.  Postage 
5  cents. 

Loui'V'Ilt  Cturiir-Jturnal  —  "The  verses  ring  with  the  deep  strength  of 
Idealized  love  and  higher  ambition  ungratified  but  none  the  less  inspiring." 

NIGHT    AND    MORNING.        By   KATRINA    TRASK. 

i  2 mo.      Cloth,  $1.2 5  net.       Postage  5  cents.      Flexible 
leather,  $2.00  net.      Half  morocco,  $4.00  net. 

"  A  dramatic  poem  dealing  with  the  modern  problem  of  marriage  in  a  most 
striking  and  original  manner." 

Nfto  Ttrk  Timft  —  "  An  inspiring  message  to  humanity,  a  noteworthy  con- 
tribution to  literature." 

THE  SOUL'S  PROGRESS,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
By  Louis  V.  LEDOUX.  12010.  $1.25  net.  Half  mo- 
rocco, $4.00  net.  Postage  10  cents. 

Baton  Tranicrift  —  "The  society  for  getting  good  out  of  little  things,  the 
cult  which  preaches  that  happiness  is  to  be  found  anywhere  and  everywhere, 
have  a  prophet  in  Louis  V.  Ledouz." 


The   International  Studio 

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JOHN     LANE     COMPANY 

114  WEST    32d    STREET  •   NEW    YORK 


A    001  426  090    5 


